


you and i have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead

by velocinity



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: 1960s AU, M/M, i really dont know, im writing this on my phone i apologize
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:09:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22728916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velocinity/pseuds/velocinity
Summary: Arin doesn’t know why Ross dragged him here. Sure, it’s a beautiful sunny day and the sound of kids playing soothes his annoyance, but agreeing to come to this shitty band play shitty music puts a snarl on his face. His book bag filled with loose papers and pencils feels like an endless weight on his back, and he just wants to go home.Until he notices the boy standing behind the microphone.
Relationships: Dan Avidan/Arin Hanson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	you and i have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first egobang fic, and im currently writing it on my phone. i deeply apologize. 
> 
> YES, this is loosely based off of how john lennon and paul mccartney met, im sorry!!! but a 1960s au was necessary to ease my aching heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is INCREDIBLY SHORT, i promise the next few will be longer. bienvenue power bottoms.

Arin doesn’t know why Ross dragged him to the annual fundraising fete. Sure, it’s a beautiful sunny day and the sound of kids joyfully playing soothes his bitter annoyance; the sweet smell of caramel apples fills the air, sunlight warms his face, and a soft breeze flirts with the summer atmosphere. But agreeing to come see this shitty band play their shitty music puts a snarl on his face. His book bag filled with sketchbooks and pencils just might make him crumple to the ground, and he just wants to go home.

Until he notices the boy standing behind the microphone.

He must be around seventeen or eighteen, although his astonishing height might say otherwise. His lean body is moving around the makeshift stage, terribly mimicking some old Elvis moves Arin remembers seeing on his family television just a few years prior. Dark brown curls hang from his head, most of them plastered to his forhead with sweat. He’s wearing what looks to be an old school uniform. A white button-down with the sleeves haphazardly rolled up to his elbows, grey slacks, and black leather boots that glimmer in the sunlight. 

Arin weirdly finds his voice relaxing. He’s singing an old Perkins song, plucking a black bass guitar that is most definitely out of tune. He’s getting the words wrong, and making them up as he goes along, but the audience of rambunctious kids and distracted parents don’t seem to mind. Arin is focusing so much on the band that he doesn’t even hear Ross speak at first. 

“Arin? Are you even listening to me?” 

Arin finally turns his attention toward Ross. His accent, still thick and Australian, makes Arin giggle. He wonders when it will ever fade away, and he secretly hopes it doesn’t.

“Loud and clear, buddy,” Arin responds, when he most definitely didn’t hear a lick of what was said. 

Ross grew up near Perth, Australia and moved to the US a year earlier. Arin met him on the morning bus to school, when all the other seats were filled and he no other choice but to sit together. They immediately bonded over their love for drawing and comic books. They had even planned to make a cartoon some day, produced solely by themselves with drawings of characters they made together. But they both know it will never happen. 

“Then what did I say?” Ross asked like a challenge, placing his hands on his hips and a wide smirk on his face. Everything must be a competition with this guy.

Arin takes a deep breath and sighs aloud. He wants to say something funny, something that will get Ross to wipe that annoying expression off his face, but nothing comes to mind. “That this band sucks and we should leave?”

”Ha ha, very funny,” Ross closes his eyes for a moment, feeling out the mediocre music pumping through the small amplifiers. “I happen to think they’re not bad. Could be the next Beatles, don’tcha think?”

This makes Arin audibly laugh. Ross knows that Arin isn’t a huge Beatles fan, but he might secretly sing along when they come up on the radio. He doesn’t deny their talent; he truly does think they deserve the popularity they get. He just happens to prefer deeper lyrics and a more rock and roll style. 

“I asked you to come here so you can meet the singer. He’s so funny, I promise you he’ll make you laugh the minute you meet him,” Ross promises, sliding his hands into pockets and nodding to himself. Or maybe he’s nodding to the music, Arin can’t tell. 

As if on cue, the band launches into a Beatles tune. The singers attempt at Lennon’s voice is rough, and he can’t quite get the accent right. Arin doesn’t blame him—Liverpudlian accents are particularly difficult for an American. 

Arin actually starts to tap his foot to the music. 

_I think I’m gonna be sad, I think it’s today._

_The girl thats driving me mad is going away._

_She’s got a ticket to ride, she’s got a ticket to ride. She’s got a ticket to ride, and she don’t care._

The boy’s stage presence is definitely something noteworthy. He’s got plenty of emotion, and it looks like he means every word he sings—despite not writing the lyrics.

Okay, maybe this band isn’t half bad. 

“What’s his name?” Arin asks, furrowing his eyebrows, not daring to taking his gaze away from the stage. 

”The singer? His name is Danny. He was one of my mates when I first moved here.”

Arin is slightly taken aback. How has Ross known this guy for so long and hasn’t introduced him yet? He usually expects Ross to tell him everything. How many other secret friends does he have?

Apparently the Beatles song is their last of the set, because Danny is saying his thank-yous and the band is putting their instruments in their respective cases and wrapping up extension cords from the amplifiers.

”So? What did you think?” Ross asks, his voice all high-pitched and hopeful. Arin doesn’t have the facilities to tell him he actually semi enjoyed it.

”Y’know, I didn’t hate it,” Arin lies, never letting Ross win for a second. Or, at least letting Ross know he’s won.

”That’s a start, I guess. I think they have another show later tonight, I can give you a ride.” 

Arin doesn’t even have to think twice. But he pretends to take some time mulling over the offer. “I’ll think about it,” he responds plainly.

“Let’s go in the chapel; I think the band is gonna be in there for a while.” Ross starts towards the tall building just walking distance from the fete. Arin follows just behind him, hands in his pockets and eyes squinting against the afternoon sun.

They step inside the church and instantly, memories come flooding back. He remembers the uncomfortable pews, the musty hymnals, and walking down the aisle to light the candles at the end. Everything is the same, down to the very smell of the old wood. His parents would make him come every Sunday, to listen to the uptight priest explain every sin in detail and go to Sunday School where coloring books somehow related to biblical stories. 

Soon enough, the band comes flooding into the building behind them. They have bottles of beer in their hands, and Arin wants to vomit at the thought of alcohol. He tried it once at a family party, when his tipsy dad handed him a glass of a spirit of some kind, and he spat it out immediately. He hasn’t had any since. 

“Ross! How have you been?” Danny nearly yells, his arms stretched out wide, bass in one hand, drink in the other. Ross beams and gives him an awkward side-hug, and they begin talking about various things that Arin could not care less about. 

Arin takes the time during their conversation to fully assess the band up close. There are five others, all holding various instruments in one arm, a beer in the other hand. Theres one extra person standing around that wasn’t on stage, Arin guesses he’s their manager. He catches various elements of the words spoken, like how the show went, the girls they’re currently seeing, and school teachers they resent. 

After what seems like an immeasurable amount of time, Ross turns back towards Arin, placing his hand on his shoulder. 

“This is Arin. He draws like me and he’s _hilarious.”_ Ross ensures.

”I’ll have to see for myself,” Danny quips, a wide smile spread across his face. Arin goes in for a shake of the hand, but Danny engulfs him in a hug. He melts into the embrace, and he doesn’t quite know why. 

”And this is Danny.” Ross says, but Arin already knew this.

”I actually like Dan better,” Dan mentions, “Or Daniel, if you’re my grandma. So you draw?”

Arin sucks in a short breath. “I do.” 

“Well? Let’s see it!” 

Arin is really not in the mood to show this brand new person that he happens to think highly of his drawings—it will just remind him of the bullies that endlessly made fun of him for wanting to be creative. 

“That’s okay, maybe another time,” Arin hopes, and secretly wishes that time never comes. 

“Come on, Arin! You have to show him your stuff! Dan, I swear his stuff is better than mine,” Ross interjects, and Arin wants to kick him in the dick right about now. 

“All I have is my sketchbook, and everything is really bad, none of it is done,” Arin wishes he could make up more excuses that could actually work.

Dan makes solid eye contact with Arin, and a suddenly it’s grown very hot in the chapel. “That’s the beauty of art! It doesnt have to be finished for it to be good.”

Arin finally caves and slips his bag off his shoulders, setting it down by his feet. He pulls out a mangled sketchbook, covered in paint and doodles he makes during class when he most definitely should be paying attention. He opens up to one of his favorite pages, a sheet covered in concept art for the cartoon him and Ross want to make. Dan practically rips it from his hands. He inspects the page, running his fingers over the lead markings.

”These are amazing,” Dan admits, and immediately starts passing it around to his other band members. They all nod in agreement, setting down their instruments to get a better look. 

“You’re incredible! Would you be interested in designing posters for our shows?” Dan asks, and Arin feels bad that he hadn’t asked Ross. But he doesn’t seem to mind. 

“I mean, sure, that seems fun,” Arin seems disinterested, but in reality, he is just scared he won’t meet Dan’s expectations. Graphic design isn’t his strong suit. Ross quickly interjects.

”He would _love_ to,” and once again, a swift kick to Ross’s crotch sounds great right about now.

“Cool! I guess you should meet everyone else, so you can put a name to a face.”

”That would be helpful, yes,” Arin agrees, letting a sheepish smile creep onto his face.

Dan points to a kid with black hair and the etchings of a beard wearing a tweed jacket and grey trousers. “That’s Brian; he plays keyboard and writes lyrics with me.” Arin widens his eyes at the thought. They write their own music? From the show, Arin might have thought they were just a shitty cover band.

Dan continues to introduce the rest of the band, but Arin isn’t paying much attention. He takes the time he has to get a proper look at Dan. Small, brown eyes sit deep in his face, and whiskers that match his hair pepper his jaw and chin. He’s got a scar in his left eyebrow, creating a thin, hairless line almost from corner to corner. He’s gonna have to ask him about that later. 

“And that’s everyone. We’ve got another show tonight, a little club downtown. You’re welcome to come if you’d like! I can get you in for free.” Dan offers, and Arin will have a hard time saying no. Especially if Ross offers him a ride like he promised earlier.

Instead of taking the time to ponder the question, he asks himself why he’s become excited to go to the show. Arin actually _hates_ concerts; the crowds make him nervous and the walls make him feel claustrophobic. 

“I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twitter at @willlsonco :)


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